


This Game is Sick

by Rrrowr



Category: Glee
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-19
Updated: 2012-03-19
Packaged: 2017-11-02 05:25:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/365426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rrrowr/pseuds/Rrrowr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sandy meets Blaine at a bar and is certain that he has no idea what he's getting into.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Game is Sick

Blaine tells his story easily when Sandy slides into the next seat. It’s not unexpected. Sandy’s heard this sob story from a million guys just like Blaine — new city, new place, still job hunting, no new friends yet, but looking to make some.

“Look, son, if you’re looking for friends to braid your hair and gossip with, you’re barking up the wrong tree,” Sandy says. He’s never been afraid to tell it straight, so to speak, and he’s not about to now -- no matter how fragile Blaine looks. “The company you find here is going to be a lot more fun but a lot more temporary.” He gives Blaine a once over. He reeks of so much desperation that Sandy can taste it. He’d be surprised by the lack of offers if he didn’t also sense that Blaine had tendency to cling if the scared cross of his arms was any indication. “Here’s my advice: go home, go to bed, dream of ponies and rainbows and the trends from yesterday’s Vogue, and when you wake up: sign up for some yoga class and make friends there. You’re not up for this place.”

Sandy expects that to be the end of it. He signals to the barkeep for a final round -- appletinis, of course -- and when he turns back to Blaine, he’s a bit surprised to see the kid straightening up and leaning forward with a hard glint in his eye.

“Are you saying that I can’t handle this club?” he asks and then tacks on, “ _Mr. Ryerson_ ,” in the most sultry little purr Sandy’s ever heard.

It takes a moment -- one in which they both get their drinks and Blaine starts tipping his back with a gusto he is absolutely not prepared for -- before Sandy actually starts laughing. Blaine is... He’s okay, Sandy guesses, if a bit shaky, but the potential is there. Sandy chuckles into his drink, sipping, and then smirks at Blaine.

“Cupcake,” he says, wondering briefly if what he’s about to say counts as heckling, “there’s not a man on that dance floor that you know how to handle.” Probably, he decides because of the way Blaine’s hackles absolutely rise in defense. “You think you can?”

"I know I can,” Blaine argues. 

Sandy can’t stop grinning. “I think you think you can, but you have no idea what kind of fire you’re playing with. You’ll get yourself burned.”

“Then tell me how to do it right,” Blaine says and oh, Sandy can hear the slight slur to his words that means he’s going to be painfully honest about himself. “People are always telling me that I can’t do something, but they never tell me how to fix it. How am I supposed to get better at things if no one’s going to bother teaching me?”

“You want me to teach you,” Sandy deadpans. “No, absolutely not.”

Now Blaine is smirking as he strokes his fingers up the narrow stem of his martini glass. “Scared I’ll steal away your regulars?”

“Please,” Sandy scoffs. “You’re far too young for their tastes.”

“Then there’s nothing to fear,” Blaine says.

Sandy frowns. “You don’t know what kind of game you’re playing.”

Blaine only smiles. “So teach me the rules.”


End file.
